Reality Check
by Magma1
Summary: Another 'Person sucked into Middle Earth' fic, but hopefully a bit different to the usual
1. Driving Late at Night is Never a Good Id...

Author's Note  
  
This whole story came about following a conversation I had recently. We were talking about hobbies and I mentioned that I did archery for a while. Someone asked why and I responded "Just in case I ever get sucked into a pseudo-mediaeval or Tolkeinesque dimension". To which another friend added "Yeah. That's why I took up fencing!". I was challenged to write about what would happen if that ever happened. In some ways, I suppose it's a Mary-Sue fic, but it's a look at how someone with a clue would adjust to being dropped into a story where you know what happens, but your very presence might change 'history'. I hope you enjoy it.  
  
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Driving late at night is never a good idea. Driving late at night after a long day at work is always a bad one. Grace cranked up the volume on her car stereo and switched it to some pulsating 80s electro-pop to try and keep the fuzziness at bay. She fished around on the seat next to her for more sweets while singing along to the CD. She'd stayed late to complete a report and was looking to finally getting home for the weekend, a lie-in in her own bed and catching up online.  
  
It was just gone midnight and the motorway was empty as it was likely to get. She zipped past the last few lorries somewhat over the speed limit, while casting aspersions on the sanity of the few alleged lunatics travelling even faster than she was. Her mind wandered slightly, but she was brought back to reality by the car bouncing along the serrated line bordering the carriageway. Her eyes drooped as the car ate up the miles, weaving slightly. She fought to keep her attention at least long enough to reach the next service station, but her concentration wavered and she drifted into peaceful unawareness. 


	2. What the Hell is Going On?

The first thing she noticed on regaining consciousness was that something wasn't right. She was slumped in an uncomfortable position, leaning sideways face down in a slippery pillow. As sense returned to her, she realised she was strapped into her seat, surrounded by a plethora of partially inflated airbags. The car was leaning sideways and forward, she ached across the front and up her legs, although mercifully she appeared to be mostly intact. Bracing herself on the steering wheel, she unbuckled the belt and forced the door open. Relief at being alive mingled with the terror of maybe killing someone else. She struggled out of the car and hissed with pain as various bumps, bruises and scrapes made their presence felt. It was then that she wondered why she was alone - it was daylight now. That implied that the accident had happened some time ago, since it was midnight last she knew. Why had no-one called the emergency services?  
  
Grace leaned on the car and looked around. Bewilderment gradually seeped in as she listened and heard. nothing. No traffic. The car had settled in a shallow ravine, one corner partly submerged in a small river. Grace swore as she took in the damage. The front crumple zone had done what it was designed to do and was a twisted mass of metal and shards of plastic. She supposed she should be grateful she was still alive, but all that swam into her mind was the hike it was going to put on her insurance premiums. She rummaged around for her cell phone in the debris of sweet wrappers, soft drink cans, CDs and cases in the passenger footwall. Retrieving it she was pleased to note that it was still partially charged. However even waving it around produced no signal. The climb to the top of the ravine, following the car's tracks was awkward, requiring her to pull up the long straight skirt of her suit above her knees. Once there she scanned around, panic beginning to set in. Nothing. No motorway. She looked around in surprise. No road anywhere in sight. In fact, no houses, no buildings, no walls, not even a hedgerow. No sign of habitation. This was impossible in England. Everywhere had some sign of human presence. The landscape wasn't right either. She'd been not far from Leicester Forest last she could recall. Flat farmland. Not rugged hills like this. They did exist, but not on her route home. Puzzled and more and more fearful, she looked up. No vapour trails either.  
  
Muttering swear words, she forced herself to keep calm. "This can not be happening to me!", she said aloud. Tears threatened to leak from her eyes. "Where the bloody hell am I?". Grace followed the gouges in the soft turf that showed where her car had travelled. The tracks just appeared in the middle of a flattish valley, obviously the flood plain of the river her car was currently polluting. She wandered about aimlessly for a while before heading back to the car, where she dug out a book and grabbed a half-drunk bottle of diet Coke. She then went back to the top of the ravine and sat down on a flat rock and waited for someone to appear. No point in leaving, she'd never find the car again.  
  
Hours passed. Another rummage through her belongings produced a tube of Jaffa Cakes, a cherry muffin, a half-eaten cheese and onion pasty, a bottle of salad cream, half a packet of cream crackers and three bags of sweets (one half-eaten). "Thank God for buy-two-get-one free offers", she said. "Well, I'm not going to starve anyway," she frowned and added with a dry laugh "Die of malnutrition maybe, but not starve.". The remains of the pasty and the muffin made for a practical picnic lunch. One finished book was exchanged for another. Engrossed with her reading, Grace scarcely noticed the afternoon drag away until it started to get chilly. While the sun was shining the day was pleasant, but now a distinct autumnal chill settled on her. Glancing at her watch she frowned. She wasn't looking forward to spending the night out here, alone. It wouldn't be the first time she'd slept in the car, but only as a last resort. It was then that she realised she was being watched.  
  
Grace stared at the man who was watching her. He was stood about twenty feet away, though she hadn't heard him approach. He was tall and slender, wearing a green tunic and leggings. This was not the oddest thing about him though; the longbow and quiver on his back marked him out even more. After a minute she waved a greeting and stood up. "Hello there. I'm afraid I had a bit of an accident," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the car with her book. "You wouldn't happen to know where I am would you? Could you point me towards the M1 or a phone box or something.". Her voice trailed off as the man stared at her with a blank expression. She tried again "Nice costume, by the way. You doing a LARP or something?" She stopped abruptly as the man nocked an arrow and aimed at her. He addressed her with a precise accent "Who are you, lady, and what do you here? And what is this LARP you speak of?"  
  
Grace gawped at him "Who do you think you are, pointing arrows at people? No, don't tell me. you're Legolas, aren't you." she added caustically, folding her arms across her chest. The point of the arrow wavered a second, and a deadly look crept into her watcher's eyes. "Speak now. Who are you, and how do you know my name?".  
  
Grace couldn't help but laugh. "You're kidding right.". Whatever response the man had been expecting, that wasn't it. His only response was a further narrowing of his eyes. She stared back, taking in details she hadn't noticed before, things like the pointed ears. She wasn't entirely sure what other anatomical differences there were, but that was enough. "Bloody hell, you're an elf!" she gasped. She shook her head, unable to process what was happening, wavering between the ideas that either a mad role-player with prosthetics and an elf-fetish, or a real, live elf was threatening to kill her. She considered for a few seconds and settled for the course of least peril, since he looked like he was seriously pissed off.  
  
"Grace, Grace Redmires, As to what I'm doing here, I'm lost. If I knew where 'here' was, I wouldn't be here if you get what I mean.". The man/elf glared at her some more. "I'm lost," she clarified. "My car. err conveyance crashed here. I have no idea where on Earth I am.". He watched her, still suspicious.  
  
Grace sighed. "Look, I'm unarmed. How can I be a threat to you? I'm sure you could put a few arrows right though me before I got anywhere near you. I'd prefer it if you didn't point that at me in case of accidents.". The man/elf responded coolly "Elves do not have 'accidents'," but he lowered the bow and slackened the tension. Grace was unable to help retorting dryly "Well, just so's you don't deliberately shoot me by mistake then.". She wasn't sure if she was mistaken, but she thought the edges of his mouth twitched upwards slightly.  
  
"I'll show you. my car's over here.". Grace turned and headed back to the vehicle. She scrambled down the ravine in unladylike fashion, only to see the elf drop beside her in two jumps. "Well, this is how I got here.".  
  
Legolas, for Grace was coming to the disturbing conclusion that it was in fact he, stared at the gleaming silver box on wheels an expression of wonder on his face. He touched the roof, and then drew his fingers across the windows. "So smooth. Is this glass?" he asked, intrigued by the large pane. Grace nodded. "How does it travel?" he inquired, an almost childlike wonder on his face. " I see no place to hitch beasts.". Grace fumbled for terms to explain. "It's a mechanical device," she said. He looked at her with intrigue "It burns a special fuel, that drives the engine and the wheels.". The elf looked at her curiously and she laughed. "I could explain the internal combustion engine, but I'd need diagrams and it would take a long time. Suffice it to say that it works. Or it would if I hadn't hit that rock, anyway.". "How fast does it travel? As fast as a good horse?". "Oh this one, maximum 120 or so miles.". "In a day?" the elf interrupted with surprise. Grace shook her head "No. This will do 120 miles in an hour - given the right roads.". Now it was the elf's turn to be gob-smacked.  
  
Further explanation was cut off by the arrival of more people. Grace didn't know whether to be relieved or despair. For staring down with expressions of puzzlement and wonder were nine other faces, and Grace recognised them all. Even Bill the pony. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Please God, no.". Her worst fears had been realised.  
  
"I don't think I'm in Kansas any more, Toto.", she whispered. 


	3. What am I Doing Here?

Some hours later, Grace sat in silence staring at a campfire. Sam was packing away his cooking gear. Boromir sat inspecting his sword on the flat rock Grace had occupied earlier, allegedly keeping watch. Gimli was holding court by the car, since Grace had opened the bonnet for him and shown him her toolkit. As a skilled metalworker, he'd been fascinated by the vehicle and its construction. Understanding this, she'd allowed him free rein, after explaining the dangers. He'd occupied himself pulling bits out of the car and examining their build and workmanship, explaining his discoveries to an audience of hobbits. Legolas sat cross-legged on the roof of the car, offering unhelpful advice and acerbic comments, causing the hobbits to laugh and the dwarf to growl. Gandalf sat on a rock, smoking his pipe and staring at her. Grace had given up trying to make out his expression between beard and hat-brim. Aragorn leaned against another, deep in thought, although occasionally distracted by the comedy relief over by the car.  
  
So far, the wizard and ranger had offered little comment on her story. She'd explained as best she could about travelling in her car and waking up here. Boromir had snorted in disbelief, pointedly ignored her and wandered away, even when she'd offered the evidence of her vehicle and clothing as not belonging here.  
  
Legolas and Gimli had been surprisingly supportive of her story, if wary. The elf had stated that in his long life, he'd never seen anything like the car. Gimli had raved about the quality of the metalwork and alloys the likes of which he had never seen, lightweight, shiny and strong. The hobbits had taken the car in their stride, but then again they'd seen many new and wondrous things recently. A horseless cart was no more surprising to them than the elven craftsmanship in Rivendell. The two younger had been friendly and open, Frodo withdrawn and quiet as was his wont and Sam suspicious but polite.  
  
Grace had been struggling to bite her tongue all evening. The Nine Walkers were on a secret mission and she didn't want to reveal that she knew of it. The slip with Legolas had been bad enough. She'd tried to cover it by saying that she'd heard of the famous elven archer and was being sarcastic. Only the hobbits bought that, she suspected. It was all very well reading about it, but it was an entirely different matter being faced with a number of serious and potentially deadly men. Male humanoids, she dully corrected herself. She'd carefully shoved her battered copy of Lord Of The Rings in a bag - somehow she doubted that the Fellowship would appreciate a well-worn tome that appeared to be dedicated to Sauron. If indeed they could read it.  
  
She appeared to have been dropped into the middle of a bad fanfiction story, complete with Mary-Sue and all. Fortunately, as with all such stories, the common language of the group was near enough to English that she could cope. She'd already discovered to watch for modern words and cultural allusions that left people looking blankly at her. Well, at least she didn't have to communicate by sign language. Thank heaven for small mercies. She strongly suspected that she'd have been dead by now if she hadn't been able to offer up her story, fantastical though it may appear. Since these were technically the good guys, at least they were giving her the benefit of the doubt. And the Jaffa Cakes she'd contributed to supper had mollified the group - chocolate and processed sugar were new, but the flavour and sweetness had found much favour.  
  
Eventually it was Gandalf who spoke up. "You've not told us all the story, Mistress Redmires, have you?". Grace looked at him wide-eyed. "Yes, I accept what you have said so far to be the truth as you understand it." The wizard tapped his pipe on his rocky seat. "However, you recognised us - if not where you are. How is this?" Grace swallowed as the eyes of the Fellowship bored into her, some with interest, others with deep suspicion. Through her suddenly dry mouth she managed to force out "You wouldn't believe me if I told you.". Gandalf said nothing, but gazed at her. She felt the weight of ages of knowledge and experience in his eyes. Finally she said "I know because I read the story. I know how Bilbo took the One Ring from Gollum, I know how you left the Shire, I know about the trip through the Wilds with Strider and the wound Frodo took. I saw the stand at the Ford and the Council of Elrond Half-Elven and the choosing of the Fellowship." She looked round the group "Gimli, son of Gloin who faced Smaug in the Lonely Mountain; Sam Gamgee, who listens in to secret conversations; Merry and Pippin, partners in mischief; Boromir who would take the ring to save his home; Aragorn, who is also Strider, Estel and Elessar, the heir of Isildur with the reforged Narsil; Frodo, Ringbearer; Gandalf the Grey, summoner of Gwaihir the Windlord; and Legolas the Elf, Prince of Mirkwood. Oh and of course, Bill the pony from Bree.".  
  
The Fellowship stared at her. Grace looked directly at Frodo. "May I see the One Ring, please? I do not wish to touch it, only to see it.". Hesitantly the Hobbit drew it out on its chain. Grace turned to Gandalf. "It looks plain, yet when it is heated, fiery letters are engraved on it. In the language of Mordor it says 'One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.' It is a precious thing, is it not?"  
  
Gandalf closed his eyes at her words and drew a deep breath. Boromir and Aragorn's hands went to their swords, while Gimli leapt to his feet, bristling with anger. "Stay, I tell you!" bellowed the Istari. Gandalf turned to them. "Fools. No spy could know near so much!". He turned to the now terrified woman, who realised that perhaps she had gone too far. "You are a woman, for all your strangeness, not some mystical being. Are you then from the future, where the tale of the Ring is recorded as history?" Grace shook her head "Not exactly." she trailed off, not sure how to put this. "You see where I come from, this" she gestured around "isn't real. It's a work of fiction, a myth." She looked at the group "To me, you're all characters in a book.". Looking down, she quietly added "Except I seem stuck here too". 


End file.
